


Don't Tell The Bees

by unrivaled_tapestry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Domesticity, Fix-It, Injury Recovery, M/M, Memory Loss, Peace, Post-Canon, Post-Crimson Flower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23120899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrivaled_tapestry/pseuds/unrivaled_tapestry
Summary: "Dedue made a bargain. Dimitri can't remember, but he happily tends to the shop and their children. A man in white blows in like a bad desert wind." Post-CF.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 20
Kudos: 165





	Don't Tell The Bees

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Nuanta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuanta/), who 1) was an absolutely fantastic beta, and 2) really encouraged me to write this fic.
> 
> Specific warnings for this fic include:  
> \- Mention of a sick child who is actively getting better  
> \- Memory loss  
> \- Mentions of war-related trauma  
> \- Past injury recovery

Summer came to Duscur early that year.

Dedue's axe thumped into the meat of the tree, slowly chipping away a wedge in the wounded side. It was young—small, but still large enough to hurt him if he wasn't careful. A second strike hit at an angle, and he drew his axe back for a third. Against his will, he remembered how easy it was to slice a sharp blade through flesh, how supple skin was compared to bark.

He coughed away the lump in his throat and raised his axe again. With his final strike, the small tree dropped to the ground, and Dedue felt the sound in his chest. Cataclysm. The end of life to make room for new growth.

He stood back, sweat pouring off of his brow and stinging his eyes. Raising an arm, he wiped the beads away, and took two solid swigs from the canteen at his hip. The drink soothed away his thirst, and he evaluated the row of planted trees, waiting to be culled. They'd promised the builders what lumber they could spare, but the hitch in his shoulder was acting up, and a break wouldn't hurt.

He raised his canteen for another drink when he saw movement down by the road.

A stranger approached on foot, taking an easy pace towards the storefront. He was clad in a tailored—but airy—white shirt and beige breeches. They marked him as an outsider even without the white parasol. Dedue spied the tight tailoring of an Adrestian vest, obvious even from a distance.

The world froze, save for the tightening of his fist around the hickory handle in his hand.

He started off walking for the shop, only to break into a run as soon as he was free from the copse.

By the time he reached the back entryway to the store, his breath came in waves, in heavy puffs that he smothered as soon as he came to the door. His heart pounded in his ears with the effort to be quiet. He was first greeted by the sweet scents of the bouquets. Next, he felt the gentle hum of the insects as they drifted over from the lavender field to get one last taste of nectar. Water kept the cut flowers fresh, and in turn kept the dark interior cooler than it would be during the full force of a Duscur day.

Next he heard someone talking to Dimitri.

"—I guess the rumors are true. You really don't recognize me?" the visitor said, with a voice that sounded like poison felt—velvet and cruel. As Dedue suspected, he was no stranger.

Honeybees fluttered around the shop's floral arrangements, flitting between blue in the shade and brilliant gold in the sun, their silvery wings buzzing around the edge of the pale parasol.

The visitor stood with his back to the awning at the open front of the shop. The sunlight burned hot against his loose, pale clothes. Dedue knew now that the man rarely dressed in a shade brighter than pitch, but the necessities of travel through Duscur had clearly won out over aesthetics.

Dedue couldn't see Dimitri's expression—he faced away, towards the open front of the store, but his posture bespoke confusion. Hesitation. Caution. Even if Dimitri didn't remember war, his body did, and Dedue spied the tension in his forearms, under his rolled sleeves.

Dedue slid behind a shelf of preserves, the handle of his axe pressed tightly into his side.

"I am sorry," Dimitri said, voice even. "I don't wish to offend, but my memory is not good."

"Does the name Edelgard mean anything to you?"

Under Dimitri's loose shirt, his shoulders tightened. "Only what I've been told. Who are you—"

"Papa?" A tiny voice said gently, and Dedue's stomach dropped further. He dared a look out from behind the shelving to see Mari standing at the far end of the awning, her stuffed rabbit clutched haphazardly in one fist. She coughed—a recovering cough, a healing one, but still reaching so deep into her ribcage that Dedue felt a deep fear creep back into his skull, like maggots.

Both Dimitri and the visitor turned to face the child, to their credit, both looking alarmed at the interruption. Dedue's eyes remained fixed, watching for any indication of a sign being formed in the air, of the metallic pop of dark magic.

"Excuse me." Dimitri rose from his seated position at the table, and went over to Mari. To Dedue's relief, Dimitri kept his shoulder to the front of the shop, and one eye on the man in white.

Dedue would never have to know if the visitor meant to take advantage of a lapse in judgement. Instead, he opted to watch Dimitri run up to their youngest and adjust the purple bow on the collar of her sleeping dress. "Mari, you shouldn't be out of bed."

"Aiden and Brenna can play. Why can't I?"

Dimitri knelt beside her, looking all the bigger next to her. "You're just getting over your sickness. Your brother and sister needed to rest after they caught it, too."

The visitor watched carefully with an evaluating gaze, his free arm resting non-threateningly in the pocket of his breeches.

"It hasn't reached the border yet, but I heard about the fever. I hope the child is well." To his credit, the sympathy in his voice sounded genuine.

Dimitri gathered Mari up in his arms, hefting her up to his full height. "Yes, well, children are strong. The fever wasn't severe." He narrowed his eyes. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't."

"Do you know my papa?" Mari asked, half speaking into the arm of her toy as she pressed her head into Dimitri's chest.

"We went to school together."

At that, Dimitri bristled, and he shifted his weight, moved to block Mari with his own body—already marked with scars. Dimitri didn't know their authors, didn't want to, and still he was ready to let it be a shied. "You should leave—"

Dedue emerged from behind the preserves. Dimitri's searching found him, his expression relaxing in the same way a man adrift at sea would be grateful to see dry land.

And Hubert von Vestra turned to face him, his eyes covered with shaded spectacles like a skeleton, and his mouth working into a tight smile—Dedue couldn't tell if it was in greeting or amusement, and he felt a spike of hot anger.

"Dimitri," Dedue started, glad the exertion from his sprint was gone from his voice. "I think we're ready to bring another load of lumber to town."

Dimitri's gaze floated between Hubert and Dedue, the question on his face hidden by a well-practiced stare. Mari, in Dimitri's arms, glanced between the adults in the room, her eyes wide. After a few long moments, Dimitri adjusted Mari so he had a better grip on her.

"Please, Dimitri, I will see to our guest." The sweat cooled on the back of Dedue's neck, and it sent a shiver through him. He wanted Dimitri and Mari far away from this man. He let a blink, and a well-practiced sideways glance show that he would explain later.

"All right. I have to get Mari back to bed first, but after I'll go load the cart and get the horse ready." He leveled one final look at Hubert, too curious to be a glare and too suspicious to be inquisitive. As he turned to leave, his face softened as he walked past Dedue. "Call out if you need anything."

Listening, Dedue tracked Dimitri's steady, confident footfalls out the door, up towards the house, all without ever taking his eyes off of Hubert.

The second Dimitri was out of earshot, Dedue squared his body and crossed his arms.

Hubert dropped his pretenses, stepping into the shop and closing his parasol without theater. Even with the protection he'd employed, Dedue could still see the blistering and peeling from a bad sunburn on Hubert's left cheek. He tried—and failed—not to find some bitter amusement in that, like it's what Hubert von Vestra deserved for blowing into Duscur after years of peace like a swarm of locusts, like it's what he'd earned for disturbing the calm of Dedue's home, making him wonder if it was going to last through the next hour.

"The last true royal son of Faerghus, whiling away his days raising Brigid lavender. I had to see for myself." Hubert tapped the tip of his parasol on the edge of one of the tables. A flurry of honeybees scattered and resettled, largely undisturbed. 

"You can tell Edelgard that I have held to our agreement. If she suspects—"

"I'm not here on behalf of Her Majesty, simply my own edification." Hubert stood with his hands folded politely behind his back, tinted glasses folded and tucked into the pocket of his vest. "Besides, if you were raising a rebel army, there are faster ways to go about it."

His eyes leveled out, hawklike, towards the back of the shop, behind Dedue, and Dedue glanced out the door behind him against his better judgement.

Dimitri walked back up to the house with a swarm of three children around him. Mari was still in his arms, her stuffed rabbit hanging sleepily off the back of his neck. To his right, Aiden grabbed at the blue-trimmed hem of his tunic to try and keep up, and Dimitri's spare hand cupped the boy's head. Up ahead, Brenna raced to the door of the house, her braids bouncing as she ran. The sun shone off him, brilliant, blinding.

"I bargained with Edelgard, not you." Throat tight, he moved himself into Hubert's line of sight. "My family is not for display, or for you to check in on us."

"Peace, Dedue, I'm not here to fight, nor report back to Her Majesty."

"Then why are you here?" Dedue wondered if his tension was obvious, if Hubert could tell that he was ready to fight and die for his little house, his small farm, his shop, his children, his husband—no longer a king but holding no less of Dedue's devotion.

"Because she didn't tell me." There was a quiver of something in Hubert's voice, a kind of faltering lilt that Dedue caught in between his words. There was a hint of surprise there, and a hint of hurt.

"You came all this way instead of asking her yourself? As if you tell her everything." To Dedue's credit, he didn't let the skepticism in his voice linger too long on the word 'you'. He wished to, but decided it would be inflammatory, and Hubert wasn't worth it.

"I don't," Hubert replied. "I regularly carry out operations without her knowing. Interrogations. Acquisitions. Assassinations."

At the last word, Dedue's hand tightened on his axe again. "Maybe that's why she didn't tell you."

Hubert motioned with his chin back up to the house. "He truly remembers nothing?"

Dedue remembered. Dedue remembered a hundred conversations, had in sickrooms swelling with the acrid smell of muscle stitching back together, laying on the shady, grassy banks of a river. Questions answered as flatly and honestly as he could, helping Dimitri piece together the fragments of the person he was, of his habits, of the life he'd lived but didn't know, and the peace he'd finally found.

He let out the breath he'd been holding. "Remembering isn't to be confused with knowing. I've told him everything, to the highest degree of accuracy I can muster. He knows he lost his parents in an ambush. He knows about both the wars Edelgard waged. He also knows about Rhea burning Fhirdiad. However, his memories—and the emotions held in them—are gone."

"And if they return?" Hubert's voice smoothed out, went so frigid it cooled the hot breeze that washed in from outside. "If his ghosts come to visit, and he again cries for her to repent?"

"Then I will deal with it," Dedue replied, letting his own voice harden. "Right now, he sleeps well. That is all that matters."

Dedue didn't tell Hubert about the time they tried to raise lambs, or how Dimitri had cried and told Dedue he couldn't stand the thought of slaughtering them, leaving them with half a herd of fiber wethers. Nor did he talk about how Dimitri let his favorite chicken perch on his shoulder while he went around collecting eggs. How he told the children stories when Dedue was too tired to, and shied away from stories about war and dragonslayers. Hubert likely wouldn't believe Dedue, and Dedue didn't need to convince him. Stories of Dimitri's nonviolence were his alone, echoes from a life he had no connection to.

"I see," Hubert said. "Well, I'll be going then."

Dedue raised his brows. "Just like that?"

"I came here to learn why she didn't tell me that Dimitri Blaiddyd and his man were still alive. I thought, perhaps, it was guilt, or pity." He gathered up his parasol, and half-turned to leave, notably not exposing his back to Dedue as he did so. "I understand now."

"Hubert," Dedue said, and Hubert paused at the edge of the awning, hot sun again reflecting off of his clothes into the shadowed shop, bouncing off of dozens of clumps of flowers in a brilliant glow. "I hold my agreement with Edelgard as sacrosanct. But if you show up here again, without warning, I will interpret it as a threat, and I will kill you."

"I would expect nothing less—likewise, if I hear a whisper of either of you leaving Duscur, my judgement will be as swift as Her Majesty's mercy." Under the parasol, Hubert folded a hand graciously at his waist, and offered a gentle bow. "Thank you for indulging my curiosity."

Then, as quickly as he had arrived, Hubert von Vestra left. Dedue watched him go, watched him wind down the pathway back to the road with an easy grace; far easier than Dedue remembered him being before the war.

As soon as Hubert rejoined his waiting carriage and the carriage was out of sight, Dedue collapsed against the counter, his axe laid on the ground next to him, his face buried in his arm until the pain between his eyes faded.

Down by the simple, broad-bedded cart, Dedue arrived in time to see Dimitri carrying half of one of the trees Dedue had felled earlier, his body tense and taught as he carefully made his way down the hillside. Dimitri had stripped out of his shirt earlier, and Dedue saw muscles quivering under a patchwork of scars. He maneuvered the log into the back of their cart, his legs straining as he set it in place and slid it towards the front.

Even with time away for injury and recovery, the log remained at the outer limit of his substantial strength, which made him a popular subject of conversation in town. No one technically knew that Dedue's Dimitri was Dimitri Blaiddyd, though Dedue was sure a handful had guessed.

Dimitri paused long enough to wipe the sweat from his brow, his expression following the line of the horizon keenly, the same way someone would watch a desert storm form in the distance and bypass them as it instead clung to the circlet of mountains cradling their plateau. From experience, Dedue knew he would be on edge for a while. "So he's not staying for dinner, I take it?"

"No." Dedue paused some ways away from Dimitri. "Do you know who that was?"

"Hubert. Her retainer." At the flicker of surprise Dedue betrayed, he added, "All I see is a face. His voice. Everything else is...noise."

"Yes, it was." Dedue approached Dimitri.

"You've called him a snake that can't be trusted." Dimitri took a drink of water, and turned to watch Dedue as he leaned against the cart.

"He seems to have calmed down," Dedue said, going up to Dimitri until he stood with their hips nearly pressed together. "I believe he has left, still, some extra caution for the next couple days will not hurt."

With a quick nod, Dimitri arched backwards to gaze at the sky, the sun burning hotly on his face, into his open eyes. Gently, Dedue reached over to his cheek, drawing Dimitri back to him. Automatically, Dimitri's palm fell over the back of Dedue's hand. They were calloused in a different way now—a workman's hands instead of a soldier's, and Dedue cherished every rough spot.

"If he'd meant us harm, I wouldn't have even known his face," Dimitri said.

"Fortunately, he did not." Dedue left 'today' unsaid at the end. "That is not your fault." He drew Dimitri's hand down, cupping it between them.

"Are our scores settled again?" Dimiti's voice sounded hollowed out, distant.

"They were never out of sorts." Dedue pressed into Dimitri, found the line of a body he'd known for well over a decade, and that he'd slept next to for half of that. He knew Dimitri's form as well as his own, for it was attentively studied and cared for. Finally it smiled easily, rested under trees in the summer sun, and slept undisturbed at night.

Dedue was ready to kill to defend that, though he hadn't needed to since the war, and was glad for his own soul Hubert didn't make him break that vow. "You've done enough for one lifetime."

Dimitri shifted, pulled his hand free from Dedue's hand to wrap them around his waist. "There's more to do."

He drew up to his full height, and Dedue smiled as Dimitri pressed their foreheads together. In response, Dedue wrapped his hands around Dimitri's back, and drew him into a kiss. Dimitri's lips were chapping in the dry air, but he kissed softly, and had even before Tailtean, before the horrors of war and the price of failure liberated them both.

Dedue recalled two long years of tedious care, of not reaching for Dimitri, until the night Dimitri extended a hand out to him and kissed him over a simmering stew.

_"Are you sure?"_

_"I am,"_ he'd said breathlessly against Dedue's jaw. _"That's the...kiss I think of when I look at you."_

In the distance, laughter carried down from the house. The lavender field hummed. Sheep ate and bleated in the far pasture while an old draft horse grazed in his turn-out area, next to a dappled pony for the children to learn on. The sappy smell of fresh cut wood drifted up around them, strong enough that Dedue thought it would make their skin sticky just from standing next to the cuttings.

He kissed Dimitri, and hoped they would never need to protect each other again.


End file.
